


Silk and Lace

by creepy_crawly



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, I Blame Tumblr, Non-Sexual Kink, Panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepy_crawly/pseuds/creepy_crawly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on some lovely art by Apfelgranate on Tumblr.</p>
<p>Wherein Raleigh Becket wears panties.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Not all sexified, IDK, somehow I managed to write kink without, you know, actual kinkiness. Also, Mako and Raleigh are never actually "together together"/"facebook offish" or whatever in this, so you can pretend if you prefer otherwise.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk and Lace

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://apfelgranate.tumblr.com/post/59605159666/after-the-apocalypse-that-wasnt-mako-starts) lovely piece of work--particularly the last bit!--as made by the wonderful [apfelgranate](http://apfelgranate.tumblr.com) on tumblr.

The first pair had been a joke, or, at least, Yancy’s idea of one.

 

They’d been made of soft purple silk, adorned with thin bands of goldenrod yellow lace and a tiny little bow. They’d been sitting atop his much-beaten pillow, on the top bunk, in the room he and Yancy had shared. They’d also been accompanied by a terrible polaroid of Yancy—potentially drunk—in an awful mock-pin-up pose, blowing a kiss. He’d signed the back, too— _to my favourite Ranger, with love! Xoxo_

Raleigh had just rolled his eyes and grabbed his workout kit, which was what he was there for in the first place. Bag in hand, he’d headed off to the Kwoon. Silk and lace and Yancy’s poor life choices had been the last things on his mind, there, and so he’d completely forgotten about the surprise “present” until he’d gone to head for bed.

 

They’d still been on his pillow when he’d crawled up the ladder, damp from his shower and ready for another night of pretending to actually sleep while Yancy snuffled away. With a snort and a roll of his eyes—honestly, didn’t Yance have _anything_ better to do?—Raleigh had shoved the both under his pillow and decided to deal with them later.

 

Which of course meant he forgot they were there, at least until he was doing laundry, and then his hands were too full, anyway, so he shoved them into the bottom of his drawer and forgot them again.

 

\---

A year and a half later, Yancy was _dead_ and Raleigh was finally out of medical and packing up his shit so he could just _leave_.

 

(He wasn’t sure which of the other Rangers, or which tech, had packed up Yancy’s things into a neat stack of banker’s boxes labelled _Y Becket_ , but he was grateful for that. If he had been forced to pack up his brother’s things, as well, he might never make it out of the Shatterdome.)

 

His fingers brushed against soft silk in the bottom of the drawer, even as he pulled out a cheap polaroid.

 

Choking on a sob, Raleigh flipped it over, looked at Yancy, young and smiling, and happy. His cheeks were red—alcohol? laughter? the constant heat of the ‘dome?—and his eyes were bright. The scar from his appendectomy, when he’d been sixteen, was just barely visible. He was wearing nothing but his Ranger boots and some tech’s borrowed lingerie. He’d been semi-dating her, then.

 

Raleigh cradled the photo to his chest and finally, for the first time in nearly a month, let himself cry.

 

\---

 

Somewhere between the Shatterdome and being employed to work on the Wall, the panties stopped being something that lived in the back of Raleigh’s suitcase, along with a waterproofed pouch containing all he needed—ID, an emergency cash stash, Jaz’s latest phone number, his Veteran’s Benefits card, two old polaroids—and started being something that just _were_.

 

He couldn’t say for sure when he’d started wearing them, or why. (Though he could and would say with some ferocity that the wearing had nothing to do with Yancy. No, that was a whole ‘nother kettle of fish.) All Raleigh knew was that they were comfortable and, in some strange way, they were comforting. Like having his ass covered in shiny silk in all colours of the rainbow meant that there were no other, no darker, secrets left to hide. Like this treasure trove of bright colours and fancy fabrics and fanciful designs meant that there was still some colour, some light, left in whatever he called a life.

 

Whatever the reasons, Raleigh knew what he liked, and what he liked was women’s underwear. But not just any women’s underwear, oh, no. No, he was as picky in what he put on his body as he had once been about what he put in it. While he was okay with most styles and cuts, he preferred boyshorts and cheekies. They were the most comfortable to navigate having a penis in, after all, and, well. He liked the way they stretched over his ass.

 

He had about a dozen pairs, all in varying colours. They came in cottons and silks and polyester and pure lace. There was lace trim and picot edging and ribbons and glitter and tiny little studded jewels and printed patterns. There were sassy sayings and cute animals and simple blank space. They were handwash-only and machine-wash-machine-dry (even though he handwashed them all, for safety’s sake.) There were some that had been bought in stores, under the guise of shopping for a girlfriend, some that had been mail-ordered, some that had been bought online from a store that specifically catered to men who liked women’s underthings.

 

And they were his.

 

Nothing helped to steel him for the morning like the slippery slide of cool silk pinched between his fingers, held out so he could step into it. One leg, then the other, material gliding up and over his legs until it was stretching across his thighs, the rough lace edges scratching bright pinpoints over his skin. Then the electric pop of spandex at the crux of his thighs, the briefly-cold shimmer of silk across his naked body lighting goosebumps and shivers up through him. He’d reach down, settle himself comfortably into the quickly-warming caress of the fabric, carefully position the waist so it sat _just right_.

 

Thus armoured, he’d prepare for the day.

 

\---

 

When he first came back to the ‘dome, Raleigh hid all of his panties. They got zipped up in the hidden lining he’d sewn himself into the old suitcase. If anyone looked, all he had were the dull grey and black cotton boxer-briefs that any man had, worn and old and comfortable. Familiar. Nothing curious, nothing strange, nothing out of place.

 

It was hard, then, to focus, to let ‘dome life sink back into his skin. He was constantly on edge, constantly aware that something was missing. His current underwear—the _normal_ underwear—wasn’t uncomfortable; it wasn’t that. No, he’d been sure to wear them in, and they sat well and kept everything in the right places and didn’t chafe.

 

But they weren’t the warm embrace of cotton folding around him, didn’t have that same slick liquid slide of some of the fancier fabrics. They didn’t hug his hips or cling to the grooves where they met his thighs. No sunshine-yellow stripes or shimmering green shamrocks greeted him when he went to take a piss; there was no familiar _itch_ of lace scrubbing against soft, nigh-untouched skin, on the tough days.

 

He hadn’t counted on how much he would miss it.

 

\---

 

In Academy, everyone learned one thing. Well, okay, they learnt many things, and a lot about them, and the whys and wherefores behind them. But that all depended on a series of aptitude tests and one’s own memory and skill set besides. At the same time, though, there was not a single person who attended the Jaeger Academy who did not come out knowing one very, very important fact:

 

_There are no secrets in the Drift._

There are no secrets in the Drift, and there were no secrets in that first Drift between Raleigh and Mako. Even as the voices of the LOCCENT faded back in around them and they both shuddered through the last of the adrenaline sparked by the near-miss, Raleigh looked at Mako and Mako looked back at Raleigh and as their eyes locked he _knew._

 

She knew, too.

 

\---

 

She was waiting when he knocked on the door. Like, as soon as his fist hit the steel, before it could even echo, she was snapping the door open.

 

He stared at her, a little slack-jawed.

 

She smiled. “Come in,” she offered. “I believe you do not wish to have this conversation in the hallway?”

 

Raleigh flushed. “Yeah, uh. No. Um, you’re right, thanks.” He mumbled his way through an awkward greeting, even as he stepped into the little shoebox she lived in. Same size as his new one. Half the size of the one he and Yancy had shared.

 

Mako closed the door gently behind him. “Tea?” she said.

 

He shook his head. “No, uh, no, thank you. Um. About the Drift.”

 

She flushed. The colour was pretty on her. “Yes. About the Drift. I…I apologise, for what occurred.”

 

But Raleigh waved it away, a hand flashing through air. “Don’t. It happens. You…you learned, yeah? Next time you won’t chase the RABIT. Right?”

 

“Right,” she said, head bobbing sharply. Then, she drooped. “That is…if there is a next time…”

 

“There will be,” Raleigh said. “You and I both know they have no other options. This is the end of the line. There will be a next time, because we’ve got to be ready. And we will be.”

 

Mako bit her lip. “Yes,” she said quietly. “We will be.”

 

Raleigh didn’t smile, per se, but the corners of his mouth definitely tilted upwards, towards her. A point in his favor. “So, anyway. About what you saw…”

 

“What happens in the Drift, stays in the Drift,” Mako said calmly, looking up at him. “Is that not common courtesy?”

 

“Yeah well, you can’t let anyone know, Mako. I’m serious.”

 

She snorted. “They won’t drum you out for liking panties, Mr Becket. Not anymore. Besides, as you said.” Her eyes twinkled. “It’s the end of the line.”

 

\---

 

That night, over an otherwise quiet dinner, Mako offered abruptly, “I can help you with the final fit on your circuit suit, if you prefer.”

 

Raleigh blinked at her. “The final…fit?” It wasn’t unheard of for copilots to suit each other, no, but he’d been expected the last adjustments—the ones that couldn’t be done until you were _in_ the suit, and then couldn’t be done by you _because_ you were in the suit—would be done by the same crew getting the hook-ups taken care up, the neural interfaces plugged in and prepared.

 

Mako nodded. “It is best if your attention is fully on our Drift, Mr Becket. If it will ease your mind, wear what you will. And I will be the only one who knows.”

 

\---

 

She was right.

 

It did help.

 

\---

 

“I will have to buy you another pair,” Mako said, her voice dreamy and distracted, her head pillowed on her arms at Raleigh’s hip.

 

“Mmm?” he managed, still flying pretty high on the delicious cocktail of painkillers medical had started pouring into him when he’d re-reported with a bruise decorating his whole right side and bared-toothed smile and reported that he’d just pissed blood, could someone take a look, please?

 

“Your lace ones,” Mako said. She sat up so that she could get a better look at his face. “Medical had to cut them off when we were brought in, remember? I should replace them; it’s my fault you were wearing your favourites.”

 

Raleigh blanched, enough of that trickling through the medicated haze. “Christ, Mako,” he swore. “Don’t remind me.”

 

She slanted an eyebrow at him. “They’ve seen far more interesting. I promise.”

 

“Right.”

 

“You forget I grew up with Chuck Hansen. I promise. They have seen _far_ more interesting things.”

 

Raleigh reached out tentatively and squeezed her hand as her face sunk, the reality of Chuck and her _sensei_ ’s fate sinking into the air between them once more. In the long run of things, he figured, his panties were not so much a concern to medical, who had quite frankly been more concerned with figuring out how irradiated he and his copilot were, thank you, than with considering the sartorial choices of either person.

 

\---

 

This time, the panties that arrived on his pillowcase were a bright, vibrant magenta. Cotton, too, except for the fanciful rose-pattern-lace on either hip. Lace around the elastic edges too. Raleigh picked them up, a flush rising in his cheeks. He rubbed the lace together between his thumb and his forefinger. Surprisingly soft, he noted.

 

These, too, were accompanied by a note, which he noticed as soon as he picked them up. Still holding the panties, he picked the note up, as well.

 

_Wear these tonight_ , it read. _I think you’ll like my new dye._

Smiling, Raleigh popped the button on his jeans and got ready to change.


End file.
